The Doctor
by Summer Day
Summary: This fic is a tad morbid. Rated R for mild violence and references to unusual sexual practices. My first Harry Potter fanfic. Slash. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1: Introduction to the Narrator

       What was the name you said?  Severus Sn... Ah, *yes.*  Yes, I remember him.  I remember him very well.  He was a patient of mine.  That's right.  I'm a doctor.  Oh, not the sort who prescribes antibiotics and nags you about your cholesterol.  No, I'm a psychiatrist.  Severus was referred to me by another doctor.  You see, I'm the resident specialist in delusional cases, and there has been a veritable *epidemic* of those lately.  Severus was very, very far gone when he came to me.  His last doctor must have been rather fond of drugs, because he was barely conscious...

I don't approve of those methods *myself.*  Pumping a man full of chemicals isn't going to do him any good.  It's not real *treatment.*  It's incapacitation rather than rehabilitation -- but now isn't the time for the disabling vs. enabling chemical debate, is it?  You wanted to know about Severus.  Well, I've been in this profession for years now, and so it wasn't the first time that I'd come across a patient who was suffering from a chemical overdose.  He didn't even know where he was.  He was very irate, during our first consultation.  He demanded to know what had happened, why he was brought here, what was planned for him -- It was all very typical of severe paranoia, and he was very, very paranoid during those early stages.  I explained his situation to him, of course.  Calmly, rationally -- did you know, I've been told that my therapeutic techniques are *impeccable?*  But there was no reasoning with him, at first.  His mind was locked deep into its own world.  He was convinced that this hospital was a prison or dungeon of sorts.  He believed that he was a prisoner, not a patient, and he even went so far as to include me in his fantasy; arguing that I was not a doctor at all, but a prisoner just as he was.

      Yes, he cooked up quite an elaborate story, but that sort of thing is really more common than you'd guess. These people are simply terrified of authority figures. They cannot allow themselves to trust others. But deep down they truly *desire* my help. So their minds try to reconcile these inconsistencies by convincing them that I am on the same level as they are. It makes them feel more sane, that way, and it makes me less of a threat in their eyes. Severus turned out to exhibit an almost textbook-worthy example of this kind of defense tactic. He was so *convinced* that his world was the true reality ... I was almost tempted to humor him. 

       Well, I admit that I *did* initially humor him to some degree. How? Well, I didn't force him to give up his make-believe words, right away. He had several of them. If you could wait just a moment, I could find you the list I made from our taped sessions . . . I know that you're in a hurry, it'll only take a minute. Here we are. "Muggle" came up the most often. At first I thought that it meant "doctor," because he used it in reference to me and "my kind." But it was actually a term which meant anyone who was not like him. You see, many of those suffering from this sort of delusional disorder tend to disassociate themselves from the rest of humanity. They feel "different," so they must *be* different. Often they believe that they are aliens, or occasionally angels. Creatures from some other plane of existence. Over the past few years there has been an increase in people who believe that they are capable of superhuman powers. Severus was one of these. He insisted that he was able to do magic. 

       What? Well, of course I gave him the opportunity to prove it. I asked him to several times. But, of course, he never could demonstrate. None of them ever can. Oh, it doesn't bother them in the least. They come up with "conditions" that must be met before they can prove their stories. "I can only read your mind on a full moon while Venus and Neptune are aligned with Saturn," for example. Or they must be in a particular location, or they can only do it when no one else is watching . . . that sort of thing. I don't remember the catch that Severus gave . . . would you like me to look for it in my notes? No? All right. Anyway, the illusion he had surrounded himself with was truly remarkable. All of it is very common . . . even down to making up nonsense words! But it was so real to him, so very difficult to break . . . Hm? Oh, yes, I'm happy to report that he is completely cured. I'm about to get into all of that. But I shouldn't rush ahead of myself! Now, where was I? . . . ah, yes. As I said, diagnosing him was terribly easy. Run-of-the-mill paranoid hebephrenic schizophrenic, with delusions of . . . an interesting nature, to be sure.

Not only was he a wizard -- that is his term, not mine -- but he was also being punished and watched by a more powerful entity. I suspect that it was his own interpretation of the Devil Himself, from the way he described the creature. There were many references to serpents, which indicates that this particular fantasy might have sprung from biblical origins. I speculate that his family was rather religious. Perhaps his mother instilled a deep and long-lasting fear of the "Dark Lord" into him as a child. He believed that this . . . Devil . . . was the one who had placed him here, as a prisoner. And, according to him, I was also under Satan's power.

Who *is* my employer? Why, the government, of course! This hospital is public domain. Oh, yes, it's always been here. We have a very good staff on hand . . . What bars? Oh. Yes. Well, those are to keep the patients from escaping, of course. They're here for a reason, after all! Didn't you want to hear about Severus? The treatment that cured him? I'm quite proud -- Oh, yes, of course I'll take you to visit him. He'd probably be delighted to have company. I think that he gets lonely sometimes, even with me taking care of him . . . after all, I'm only one man, and I have other obligations to attend to during the day . . . Do I? Well, yes, I suppose I would sound attached. I have grown very fond of Severus, you see . . . We've gotten close.


	2. Chapter 2: Early Sessions

       Oh, I know that he's only been here for a short while, but I feel as though I've known him for years. I understand him, you see. And once he was able to overcome his own clouded delusions, he began to understand *me.* It was very unexpected. He is a very insightful man . . . But, once again, I'm jumping ahead.

I began his treatment with a series of counseling sessions. We met once a day, for about four hours each session. Oh, perhaps that sounds a little excessive, but I assure you it was necessary in his case. In the beginning he was very uncooperative. I would almost call him aggressive. Once he realized that loud proclamations weren't going to get him out of here, he withdrew. I had quite a time getting him to talk when he'd put his mind to remaining silent! He had admirable resolve. However, he couldn't hold out forever. I believe I mentioned that I am renowned for my technique -- it is one hundred percent effective, after all. 

       After a few of these difficult beginning sessions, it became clear that Severus was going to cling to his masks and his escape route from the harsh realities of the world for as long as he could. What he needed most was to come to terms with himself. Someone needed to help him look beyond the fantasies he was creating. He needed to be freed from his own defense tactics and illusions. It sounds like a daunting task, but I assure you, it isn't. The hardest part is for them to accept that they need your help, that there is something wrong with them. It's a very painful process.

Once they realize that help is needed, all that is left to do is release them from their self-erected prison walls, if you'll excuse me for the analogy. Severus *was* imprisoned, but not by Satan, and not by this hospital. He was imprisoned by himself. By a false idea of what he needed to be in order to survive in a world entirely of his own creation. But he was not beyond help; beyond hope . . . Anyone could see that. Just under the surface, he was begging for someone to take a little time with him . . . draw him out and help him heal old wounds . . . wounds which I'm fairly certain originate with his parents. It always comes down to the parents, after all.

       Rooting out the truth that lay beneath the many layers of fantasy was not an easy thing to do. He was so stubborn, so very *adamant,* so . . . Now, that's an interesting thing to say. I admired him a great deal . . . for his strength, you see. That's all. His mental willpower . . . But, no, I didn't *love* him. He was my patient at the time. An interesting challenge, and definitely someone I wanted to help . . . but nothing more than that. No, no. I didn't fall in love with that Severus. We had to find the true Severus before I fell in love. You don't look at all surprised! My tone must give me away. Yes, after he was cured -- What? Well, I'd like to think so, yes. He's happy. He lives with me. We live together, I mean. I told you that I was going to take you to see him. Would you rather not hear the rest, then? Is that all you wanted to know? . . . Well, of course you're interested in the cure! I'd hope so. It's not at all a new technique, but I certainly made a few improvements upon it. Quite ancient, actually . . . but, you're in a hurry, aren't you? Right, right. 

       The biggest hurdle was listening. Being as stubborn as he was, Severus did not want to listen to me. You can imagine how difficult this became during the times when he also wasn't inclined to speak! I had to find a way to *show* him, beyond a reasonable doubt, that what he relied upon so much as fact was nothing more than his imagination. I had to get his attention, you see. That's what the restraints were for, on the chair in my office. I noticed you looking at them, and I could see that you wanted to ask for an explanation. It's really a very simple concept. The patient is forced to sit still, unable to rant and rave as he or she normally might . . . and certainly unable to storm out of the therapy room. The bonds have also prevented some of the more . . . unruly . . . patients from attacking me when a *particularly* painful truth is unearthed. Severus responded well to the restraints; we didn't have to use them for very long, I'm happy to say. 

Once we began utilizing the chair, things moved along much more quickly. Still, I didn't want to rush him too much. You can't force progress with these sorts of things. I find that it is a lot easier to coax a response out of a patient if you start with a physical analysis. Everyone has a physical being, and there's always something about that physicality which is worth discussing. Some people, for instance, believe that their physical bodies are just shells for a more unearthly form. That is a wonderful starting point. 

       Alas, Severus held no such notions. His body and his mental state were intertwined, and they were all that he was. He was very self-aware, for being so delusional, and he was filled with self-loathing. I found this terribly sad, since I saw in him what could be a very worthwhile human being, if only he were allowed to see that . . . I urged him to talk about himself. About his body. I can't tell you everything we said, because I keep all of my discussions with my patients private, for the most part. But we made a lot of progress in that area. 

       Even the most vain amongst us have something they dislike about their anatomy, and even the most humble can find one feature that is worth some amount of pride. We decided that he hated his nose more than anything, and eventually he did came to admit that his hands were his most praiseworthy feature. Or perhaps the term was "valuable." I'm sure I wrote it down. By accenting the valued feature, he could see that even our best could be improved upon, and by removing the unwanted, I could show him that very little about us permanent . . . we can change what we don't like for the better. Take out the parts of our lives that make us unhappy. Literally.

What an odd expression! You've never heard of that method? Oh, no! Of course I didn't hurt him! . . . You misunderstood me! No, see, aside from the nasal bone, maxilla process, and nasal process which form posterior and superior support base . . . really the nose is made up of only so much cartilage. Slicing through the alar cartilage in order to remove the tip will result in some side-effects . . . loss of vocal resonance, for instance, but really, it does no irreparable damage. You look as though I went straight through the plexus! I assure you, I did not target the inner vomer and just lay waste to all that came before it, scraping clean the various nerves and facial veins. Dear lord! I may not be a medical doctor, but I do have *some* practicing knowledge . . . And I think that you're forgetting that Severus wanted it . . . But I have to forgive you that. *He* forgot that he wanted it . . . I tried to assure him just as I assured you a moment ago, but I'm afraid he panicked a bit. That's why the upper lateral cartilage also had to be removed along with the medial crus of the alar. See, he struggled. And afterwards he was quite upset. We ended the session for that day, an hour early, so that he could compose himself and -- hopefully -- retain his grasp on reality. Remember that I was on his side. So you'll understand why the hands had to wait until the next day . . . are you quite all right? You've gone an odd color. Perhaps you should sit down . . . 


	3. Chapter 3: Progress

            Can I get you anything? Yes? No? Perhaps you should just stay sitting down until I've finished, and then I'll let you in to see him.   
            I've found that, underneath our many layers of deceptions, illusions . . . our many masks, if you will, that we are all in fact very much alike.  This is the fact that must be driven home to people like Severus.  The ones that feel so alone, alienated . . . they really only want to be a part of something. That's why their world revolves around them, in their heads.  Very egocentric . . . because they desire *so* much to belong.  They crave the acceptance of others. When they feel as though they've failed at that in their real lives, they panic . . . start imagining that everyone is against them, because even *that* would be better than being ignored outright. They feel alone in the universe . . . and they need to be constantly reassured that they *are* accepted. I like to show them that they are like everyone else.   
            The median and ulnar nerves were a necessary sacrifice to that end, I felt.  Severus was a well of deep feelings.  Anyone could see that.  Too much sensory input was only aggravating his condition. I wanted to be careful about it, of course. The hand is full of veins and arteries.  I peeled back the outer layers of skin to expose them, like tiny, pulsing, beautiful serpents.  Oh, he protested.  He didn't even try to hear me out, really.  Removing *just* the outer-most layers of the epidermis takes great skill and a very steady hand.  Especially with the tools I have to work with! The veins are so delicate . . . and you can imagine how difficult it is to work while the patient is bleeding and protesting.  The restraints work to some degree, but I'd like to get a machine for suctioning the excess fluids.  This hospital is notoriously slow at granting requests . . . Anyway, where was I?  Ah, yes.  I lay bare both of the hands, to the wrists but not beyond them.  It was trying work, and he did his best to make it much more difficult than it should have been.  Some muscle tissue was sliced, exposing one of the phalanges to the bone.  Once I severed the nerves, he stopped struggling. His hands lay perfectly complacent on the arms of the chair.  He was still protesting verbally quite a lot, but I listened to the grateful relief that lay in those hands.  They were peaceful.  Even while he was screaming . . . throwing his little fits . . . I could tell that, ultimately, he would appreciate what I was doing for him.  He understood . . . In fact, it was around that time that I think he began to become infatuated with me.  Not that I would respond to that right away.  I am, of course, a professional. But there is a distinct beauty within Severus that I could not deny.  We both knew our relationship would become something more . . . something lasting . . . but we had to wait.  Severus had to come to terms with himself, first. 

  
      


	4. Chapter 4: Middle Sessions

He cried, during those middle sessions.  I started to worry that I had inadvertently damaged something when removing the upper lateral cartilages of the nose.  Exposing the lacrimal canal for a looksee without permanently blinding the patient is beyond my skill, however, and I wanted to *open* his eyes.  Not close them for good.  Blood loss was indeed a worry, but not quite so much as nutrition. Severus suffered from loss of appetite.  I suspected that he was becoming depressed.  I did not have to speculate for long as to why.  All of his illusions . . . all of the lies he had come to believe and depend on, where being stripped away from him.  He *wanted* that, of course, but it frightened him.  As it would any of us, in his position.  Still, the depression concerned me. Depression and despair can drive us to terrible depths. I was worried that he might become suicidal, and that his refusals to eat were a sign of that . . . All of my fears were confirmed when he began to beg me to kill him . . . Don't look at me like that. I would *never* kill Severus.  I love him.  I've said that.  Where are you going?  Come back . . . You haven't heard the whole -- What are you doing?  He's not in *there.*  That's the supply room.  I told you.  Now, come back and let me finish.  This will all become quite clear . . . And I promise that I'll take you to Severus when I'm finished. . . .Of course he's all right.  Haven't I told you enough times that he's fine?  Please, sit down.   
          Now, Severus tried to convince me to kill him, yes.  He even tried to provoke me!  As though I would kill someone out of anger!  I was his doctor, his soon-to-be lover, and he really should have known better.  Well, deep down he *did* know better, I'm sure.  After all, none of his bites were strong enough to break the skin.  All of his struggles seemed half-hearted at best.  Still, I was worried that the depression might obscure even his feelings for me, his understanding of what I was trying to do for him, just enough to allow him to hurt others as well as himself. So I was obliged to remove his teeth.  
          There were two steps which I took in order to go about this . . . the first would be to pull the complete set, and hope that the entire tooth, including nerve, was removed to prevent the need of digging. . . There is the chance that a tooth -- even a permanent adult tooth -- can re-grow, however.  So I decided to not only pull the teeth, but *also* to saw a layer off of the aveolar bearing process of the mandible and maxilla, respectively. This meant scraping away the gum tissue in order to get *at* the mandible and maxilla bones, and it was very messy work. Severus was unconscious for most of it... what? Are you mad?  Why would I let him be awake for such a tedious operation? ...Again, you misunderstand. I waited for him to regain consciousness before I finished his hands because they were a demonstration. A *loving* demonstration. Removing his teeth was simply a precaution. He didn't have to bear witness to that. Of course he survived it. There are no major -- *now* where are you going?  Are you really so impatient?  Such atrocious manners!  I'm in the middle of --. . . Fine.  Fine, if you insist.  But I am warning you, he is in a very stable and content state of mind right now, and dredging up these less-than-pleasant memories will do him no good.  I can't be responsible for the damage that will result from our discussing all this in his presence. But *if* you insist, then . . . follow me.  He's right in here. Go ahead.  Severus?  My dear?  You have company . . . are you awake? I told you that it was late.  He's there -- see? Sleeping on the bed, there.  Go on and wake him -- but be gentle. Be very --

  
  
      


	5. Chapter 5: Final Sessions

Ah, there you are, again.  I'm very sorry about that.  I don't like to trick people, but I really thought that you should hear the rest of the story, first, before you actually spoke to Severus. . . . You don't remember?  Well, that's not unusual, considering the dosage I used.  Don't worry, though.  It was nothing harmful.  You may be numb for a few more hours . . . and you might have trouble walking for a day or so, but the drug does nothing permanent.  I regret not being able to move you to a more comfortable location, but I'm not as strong as I once was.  I can just barely lift Severus, and he's lost some weight.  Do calm down, please?  Of course I'll let you go.  I just didn't want you to do anything rash until you understood . . . Oh, no!  I'd never kill anyone!  Why are you so obsessed with killing?  I'm not a murderer.  I *save* people.  That's what a doctor does!  Even the psychiatric kind.  We all take oaths of servitude, you know . . . If you'd just calm down and let me *finish,* I will take you to see Severus and then you can go, once you've ascertained that he is safe . . . and happy.  He *is* happy.  We're both *very* happy.  I know that some of my techniques seem a little bit . . . Well, no, I wouldn't say insane, but they are a bit . . . firm.  An iron will is needed to carry them out, I'll admit.  But they're very, very effective.  
          Now, then. Where was I?  After his teeth were removed, eating solid foods was out of the question for my dear Severus, as you can well imagine.  Luckily, the management had granted a few of my earliest requests for medical supplies.  I was able to feed him through other means until he healed up.  We decided to go intravenously. . . That's with an IV catheter placed in the vein . . . Oh, don't look so horrified.  I don't much care for needles, either, but I was very careful about getting the tube into the vein straight off.  Well, I had to do it that way, didn't I?  I couldn't very well feed him through his nose; that was still healing.  And I couldn't just let him starve.  He *didn't* starve.  His loss of appetite vanished once the tube was in place, and he realized how much I had come to care for him.  We had overcome his depression, together.  See?  I told you my methods were effective.   
          The nurses had disappeared around then, so I had to move Severus to our room, myself, as he was not inclined to walk on his own.  At first he was a bit too heavy for me to lift, but we were able to trim him down some throughout the course of the day, and then it was all right. You'd be amazed at how happy -- how *good* he looks now.  Barely recognisable as the man who was first dragged into my office by the nurses.  All of his fears and paranoia are gone from his face.  He's . . . what's the right word for it?  Content, now.   
          You obviously don't believe me.  How can I convince you? . . .You don't need to be *insulting*. . . . All right! If that's what it'll take.  I'll bring Severus in.  Once he was settled into our room times were happier for him.  Those memories shouldn't bother him at all.  Stay there -- not that you could move much.  No one's been able to break through those straps, especially not with the particular ketamine-mix I gave you.  I'll only be a moment . . .


	6. Chapter 6: The End

          See?  Just as I said; a moment.  I had to find a wheelchair for Severus, as he didn't feel up to walking . . . Please stop yelling like that! I -- oh, now, that's -- I *told* you that you should let me explain completely before seeing him.  I told you that he looked different . . . Don't be absurd!  I didn't break his neck.  I simply lifted the occipital bone from the atlas vertebrate in order to access the foramen magnum.  I really don't see how *else* I could have done it.  He didn't protest at all.  It was actually partially his idea -- wasn't it, Severus?  I hope you don't mind my telling this man about our private life . . . No, I didn't think that you would.  
          You see, Severus and I both find the idea of anal sex to be . . . well, less than romantic.  Disgusting, even.  But we wanted to share that experience . . . me being inside him . . . So we explored other options.  The soft tissues of the body can rot, they can be corrupted and defiled . . . but not the bone.  Bone is pure and everlasting.  It is the ultimate truth . . . what we all boil down to in the end, so to speak.  It is the most exquisite beauty . . . but, where was I? Ah, yes.  New couples often experiment, sexually.  And Severus trusts me *completely.*  He didn't even flinch when I drilled a new foramen through his sternum.  There was no longer any fear.  He knows he has nothing to be afraid of from me.  I'm a doctor, after all.  
          Not a medical doctor, perhaps, but certainly skilled!  Not just everyone can widen the foramen magnum just enough to accommodate a sexual encounter without damaging the spinal cord beyond repair, or -- worse -- removing the head completely!  I don't think Severus would have survived a *complete* beheading.  But, as I said before, he trusts me now.  He didn't struggle this time, and so there were no complications.  His head is certainly attached more loosely . . . but he suffers no ill-effects, as you would *plainly* see if you would only stop screaming like that . . .

          You need to calm down.  You're upsetting the both of *us* as well as yourself . . . Here, I'll help you . . . don't be frightened,  it's just a mild sedative.  To calm your nerves.  There.  That's better, isn't it?  Why are you sobbing?  You should be overjoyed to see Severus so happy . . . so healthy . . . unless -- I see.  That's it, then.  You're jealous of our happiness, aren't you?  You feel you've lost something of your own . . .   
           Severus, did you know this man -- how should I put this -- intimately?  I hate to dredge up the past, but . . . I *see.*  Well, I am sorry to hear that.  I mean, there was no way I could have known, as you never said . . . Excuse us for a moment, Severus, I'm going to talk to your old . . . friend . . . in private.  Oh, don't worry.  I forgive you for not telling me about any past relationships that might come back to haunt us.  There, now, you just wait out here in the hall and we can discuss this later.  All right, then.  
          *You* should have said something about it.  I wouldn't have been so quick to gloat . . . I'm sorry that you lost Severus, but I doubt that relationship was very healthy, considering the state that he was in when his doctor referred him to me -- What do you mean by that?  Of course he was referred by a doctor.  The head doctor, in fact.  Dr. Vo -- yes, this *is* a hospital.  Stop ranting!  You're making absolutely no sense.  I'm beginning to wonder if you're quite sane, yourself.  You've been acting so oddly . . . are you a patient as well?  Did Voldemort send you to me?  I really wish the nurses hadn't quit, so I could ask one of them . . . What do you mean he's dead?  I assure you, the good doctor is very much alive.  He referred Severus to me not too long ago, after all.  He's just *very* busy, so we don't see him in person.    
There you go again.  You're very difficult to understand when you get going, you know.  Please calm down.  You seem very convinced that both Severus and Dr. Voldemort are dead.  Why?  Do you feel betrayed by them?  Severus for loving me, and Voldemort for sending you to me instead of caring for you, himself? . . . That was a hostile thing to say!  If you are going to act like that . . . Who?  Oh, now, you're *very* upset.  How long have you had these delusions?  This is a very old hospital, but it *is* a hospital. . . .There are no such things as wizards, good or bad.  Don't tell me you believe in that!  Did Severus feed all of this to you, when you were together?  Or did *you* feed it to *him?*  It's very interesting that you shared the same delusions . . . we can remedy that, though, easily enough.  Do you also believe that *you're* a wizard, yourself?  Capable of magic? . . . What umbrella?  The one you came in with?  Well, you won't be needing that in here, will you?  It hardly rains indoors, I daresay! . . . I see.  That's your condition, then.  A very interesting one!  I've never heard of magic umbrellas.  Sticks are more popular.  The first thing you need to do is *calm* down.  And then we can commence with the therapy . . . 

          Stop sobbing, please.  There's no reason to cry.  You found Severus!  And he's much better off than he ever was . . . And you're going to be cured, yourself! You should be happy!  I could fix that for you, you know . . . It would only take a stitch or two and the tear ducts won't be able to function . . . Shh, don't be like that.  I'm only offering suggestions.  Why are you so intent on struggling?  You couldn't run anywhere, even if you could get free.  I don't suppose you've noticed your feet, yet.  That's not surprising, seeing as how the drugs have probably not worn off.  
          See, there?  I severed the achilles tendons while you were unconscious, before.  As a precaution, really.  It's not difficult.  A quick snip.  I got a little ahead of myself when I scraped away the flesh . . . but, you see, your physique is so *unusual* . . . I could only imagine what your bone structure must look like.  Particularly the feet that have to support you . . . look, you can see how large the metatarsals are . . . the abductor hallucis and flexor hallucis brevis muscles which supported the tarsals will be enough to feed us both for a few days!  If you eat meat, that is.  I suppose I haven't asked you about diet, yet.  It's a little bit drastic, asking you to support yourself as far as nutrition goes, but, as I said before, the nurses stopped coming around, and Severus really hasn't enough to spare . . .

The End.


	7. Author Reflections

Now that you've read the story (I assume that you've read the story), you might want to see the illustration.  Actually, you probably don't want to see the illustration.  But, for the morbidly curious, I will include the link to the illustration, here:

http://www.livejournal.com/talkread.bml?journal=summer_day&itemid=8170

Comments and reviews of my writing and my artwork are quite welcome, and I thank anyone who has given me feedback for this piece (be it positive, negative, or neutral).  

The concept behind "The Doctor" is very simple:  The man is an ex-mental patient who believes that he is a psychiatrist.  He is educated to some degree, yes, but I doubt that he has a PhD in any field.  I felt that getting killed – particularly in such a horrific fashion – by a muggle would be a nice, humiliating end to any Death-Eater who betrayed Voldemort, and in this story I took liberties in assuming that Voldemort would agree with me.  Snape, of course, when discovered as a spy, would have been deemed worthy of the most terrible punishment imaginable.  A mere Cruciatus Curse would not have sufficed, and Avada Kedavra would have been far too merciful.  So, enter the good doctor.

For everything else I believe that the story adequately speaks for itself.  By the end, you know who the doctor's misfortunate audience is.  Feel free to make the assumption that Voldemort has been defeated, yet again, by the time this story takes place.  Snape has likely been missing for some time, as his ill-fated search party would probably not have easily come across whatever lair had been set-aside for the doctor and his patients.  Weeks, months . . . surely not longer than that.  

If you see mistakes in my work, feel free to mention them.  I am not really one for proofreading, myself.  I hope you enjoyed the story.  I realize that stories which place focus on original characters (who become romantically involved with main characters from the fandom) are often deemed self-insertion and looked down upon, but I thought a "Mary Sue" of sorts was appropriate for my first bit of fanfiction.  


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